


To Remain (or, the Inherent Drama of a Book Auction)

by shoebox_addict



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Love Language is Acts of Service (Good Omens), Eventual Smut, F/F, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Food is a love language, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Tenderness, Vaginal Fingering, they're just trying to bridge that gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoebox_addict/pseuds/shoebox_addict
Summary: The equation had been so simple -- if the angel likes books (A), then one should buy the angel a book (B). When would she learn there was always a C, an unwelcome variable entering into the proceedings? And usually she somehow brought about the unwelcome variable.[Written for the Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	To Remain (or, the Inherent Drama of a Book Auction)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



> This fic is for @KannaOphelia! Their suggested prompts mentioned unknowingly competing for the same rare book, and I knew I had to go for a book auction. I really hope you like this fic, I had a great time writing it. Enjoy! <3

Aziraphale had spent all night reading, as she was wont to do, and the sound of the telephone ringing did not penetrate her bubble of concentration at first. Luckily, she always expected that whomever was calling would stay on the line until she could be reached. So the phone continued to ring until, at long last, she noticed and hurried over to answer it. 

“I’m afraid we’re closed at the moment,” she said, in lieu of an actual greeting. “And rather indefinitely, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh. Oh, dear,” said the person on the other end of the line. “Does that mean that Mr. Fell is no longer interested in the estate auction?” 

That got her attention. Aziraphale removed her round spectacles and tugged at her waistcoat. “Not necessarily. To which auction might you be referring?” 

“Ah, the Appleton estate in Barnstaple.” 

“Good Lord,” said Aziraphale. She didn’t even need to consult her notes for that one; she’d had her eye on the Appleton estate for decades. She’d even been to the Appleton residence once, years earlier, when they’d had a public viewing of their book collection. The floor-to-ceiling oak shelves had been filled to bursting with the most exquisite leather-bound volumes, several of which were on Aziraphale’s “wish list.” 

“Apologies,” she said. “I’ve been terribly rude. To whom am I speaking?”

“Alistair Perry, ma’am,” said the man. “I’m handling Mr. Appleton’s assets now that he’s passed on. I found a note amongst his possessions directing me to phone a Mr. Fell about several titles in the private collection.” 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. She tugged the phone to the edge of the desk so she could sit on the sofa, her knees suddenly feeling rather weak. “I’m very sorry to hear about Mr. Appleton, but thank you for getting in touch. I...that is to say, Mr. Fell is still very interested. When is the auction?” 

“Friday the twelfth,” said Alistair.

“Gosh,” said Aziraphale, who’d had a bit of trouble keeping track of time since the apocalypse had failed to happen. And before that as well. “That’s rather soon, isn’t it?” 

“Indeed it is, ma’am. It’s the end of this week.” 

“Ah. Yes, of course. Well, I will be calling in on behalf of Mr. Fell,” said Aziraphale. “That is, I do hope you’re still open to bidders?”

“Indeed we are,” said Alistair. “And we expect several interested buyers to be phoning in, so you are welcome to do the same. What name shall I put down?” 

“Oh. Right. Er, Ms. Fell will do nicely.”

“Certainly, Ms. Fell. Best of luck on Friday.” 

“Thank you, and thank you for the call.” 

After she’d hung up, Aziraphale sent a small blessing in the direction of Alistair Perry. It was the least she could do, seeing as the man was helping her acquire several books she’d wanted for ages. With her mind racing, wondering how she might manage to remember when Friday rolled around, Aziraphale began searching for the old notebook that held her observations from various estate visits. 

The blessings were new, just one of the ways in which Aziraphale was testing the boundaries of her apparent freedom from Heaven. It had begun with a few small ones for the staff of her favorite antique shops, and then she started conjuring up rather large tips for baristas any time she and Crowley found themselves at a cafe. As it became apparent that Heaven was no longer looking over her shoulder, Aziraphale began doling out blessings wherever she saw fit. 

When the blessings went unnoticed, Aziraphale found that she wanted a change, something that would mark the new chapter in her very long existence. So she went all out and altered her gender presentation for the first time since the 1920s. It had been worth it solely for the look on Crowley’s face. Approximately ten minutes after seeing Aziraphale, Crowley had followed suit. 

Crowley had been spending quite a bit of time at the bookshop, and Aziraphale was doing nothing to dissuade her. Of course, any dissuading she’d done before had been rather half-hearted, but she’d now given up any appearance that she didn’t want Crowley around. She did want her around, and she always had, and if Heaven didn’t care about her willy-nilly blessings or changes to her corporation, then surely they didn’t care that a demon occasionally slept on her sofa.

After much searching, Aziraphale unearthed the notebook in question, a pocket-sized volume with a flexible cover. She’d picked it up at a WH Smith’s sometime in the 1970s and had kept miracling more pages into it, though it never seemed to get any thicker. The section dedicated to the Appleton book collection was rather effusive, with much underlining and even a few exclamation points. As she read through her notes, she smiled to herself, even more excited about the auction as she remembered exactly what Appleton had on those handsome oak shelves.

* * * * * *

“This is sort of a weird question. But is the ‘to-remain Bible’ still in the collection? It might say something in the notes or...something?”

Crowley glanced toward the front of the queue and toyed with the idea of making every person ahead of her suddenly remember something else they needed to do.

“Let me just have a look,” said Alistair, who had called Crowley just as she’d stepped into Aziraphale’s favorite bakery. 

Crowley tapped one heeled boot against the floor, and then stepped forward as the queue moved up. She stepped forward several more times and was almost at the till by the time Alistair stopped tutting his way through the list. 

“Aha,” he said. “Yes, there is a note about the ‘to-remain Bible.’ Are you particularly interested in that title?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” said Crowley. “And I can call in to the auction, right?” 

“Absolutely, we’ll have several bidders on the phone,” said Alistair. 

“Sounds good,” said Crowley. There was now just one person ahead of her in the queue. “Gotta run, Al, but thanks for the call.” 

Crowley tapped the little ‘hang up’ icon before Alistair could protest to the shortening of his name. Satisfied that she’d caused at least one person to feel perturbed that day, she stepped up to the counter and grinned at the young woman standing at the till. 

“I’ll have one latte to go and a box of assorted pastries.”

The barista punched a few buttons in front of her. “Any preference on the pastries?” 

“One chocolate croissant, two cherry danishes, four of those shortbread cookies, and however many macarons can fit in the remaining space.” 

“And a partridge in a pear tree?” said the barista, with a smirk.

“Nice one,” said Crowley, exchanging her shit-eating grin for a sultry sort of smile. 

The barista blushed and gave Crowley the total. After she’d paid and was waiting for her latte, Crowley quietly ensured that anyone who harassed the barista that week would come down with a case of itching in embarrassing places. 

It wasn’t just Alistair’s small ripple of annoyance that had her in such a good mood. Mainly it was the prospect of getting her hands on the perfect gift for Aziraphale. Even more than that, it was the look she anticipated seeing on Aziraphale’s face, which was fairly similar to the one she’d see when she turned up at the bookshop with pastries. Crowley had always been addicted to that look, but now she felt more able to enjoy it, revel in it, cause it. Which was lucky, because Aziraphale seemed more willing to give her that look and not follow it up with a sheepish glance upward. 

Aziraphale had mentioned the Appleton estate at least thirty years earlier, but she’d spoken about it with such longing that it had stuck in Crowley’s mind. She’d been very drunk at the time, and so had Crowley, and she’d gone on at length about the “to-remain Bible.” It was another one of her beloved misprints, this one having incorporated a note from the proofreader. Of course, she’d also lamented that old Lord Appleton was still amongst the living and not about to part with his book collection. 

The very next day, Crowley had called around to see who she could speak with about the Appleton estate. Back then, she hadn’t known what reason she might give for presenting Aziraphale with such an extravagant gift, or how she might explain the lengths she’d gone to in obtaining it. In the end it hadn’t mattered, because Aziraphale was right -- Lord Appleton was not interested in parting with any of his books. But it turned out there would be an auction upon his death, so Crowley asked to be notified the moment that happened.

Thus, the phone call from a Mr. Alistair Perry that very morning. Once she had her latte and box of pastries (and she’d made the barista blush one more time), Crowley headed for the bookshop. On the way, she set a reminder on her phone for Friday’s auction. The timing couldn’t be better, really. Aziraphale had opened up since the world had failed to end, and Crowley was feeling like their time had come. Heaven and Hell were no longer interested in them, and they were teetering on the edge of words they’d kept inside for so long. Maybe this would do it, maybe they just needed a catalyst.

There was a “closed” sign on the bookshop door, as there had been for months, but the shop still let Crowley inside. “Aziraphale! I come bearing pastries.” 

Aziraphale’s head appeared from behind one of the shop’s pillars. As soon as she caught sight of Crowley, a soft smile crossed her face. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.” 

“Nonsense,” said Crowley, striding into the shop. “I should have, and I did. Come and partake of the sugary goodness.” 

Without another word of argument, Aziraphale stood up from the stool she’d been seated on and brushed at the front of her waistcoat, as though a single speck of dust would dare cling to the aged velvet. She bustled over to inspect the pastry box, leaning down to breathe in the scent of chocolate and sugared dough. And when she straightened up again, there was that look -- the beatific smile that made Crowley feel all warm inside. 

“Thank you, my dear,” she said, reaching out to pat Crowley’s arm.

Then Aziraphale reached into the box and plucked out one of the macarons. Crowley watched as her perfect teeth punctured the pastry shell, lips closing around a dab of pistachio cream. Her eyes fell shut, she hummed happily as she chewed, and Crowley was transfixed. One might assume the shine would be off this particular experience after several millennia, but Crowley never grew tired of watching Aziraphale enjoy herself. As she opened her eyes again, Crowley was primed to look away and pretend she hadn’t been staring, but she was trying to break the habit.

“Good, then? Eh?” she said, fiddling with her sunglasses. 

“Scrumptious,” said Aziraphale, popping the rest of the macaron in her mouth and eyeing the other pastries. “The danish will pair perfectly with a cup of tea. Join me?” 

“I’ve got my latte,” said Crowley, holding up her cup. “But, yeah. I’ll join you.” 

Aziraphale smiled at her, then picked up the bakery box and headed to the back room. “How have you been?”

Crowley rolled her eyes and followed Aziraphale. “What? Since Saturday? Nothing new to report, I’m afraid.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” said Aziraphale. She placed her ancient tea kettle on her ancient cooker and a flame burst into life beneath it. “I keep expecting you to have some grand bit of mischief to share with me.”

Crowley shrugged and sipped her latte. The auction was top of mind just then, but she couldn’t very well share that with Aziraphale. “Nah, no projects. The barista was cool, so any arseholes she serves this week will get very itchy very quickly.”

Aziraphale smirked at her. “Some might call that protection, of a sort.”

“Don’t know what you mean,” said Crowley. She leaned backward, one shoulder connecting with the doorframe. “Spreading itchiness spreads annoyance, and the annoyed parties will just get more people annoyed. Before you know it, big web of annoyance floating over London.”

“Hmm,” said Aziraphale as she poured hot water into her teapot. “Whatever you say, my dear.” 

The day progressed as all days had recently. Aziraphale ate half of the pastries that Crowley brought over as they chatted about nothing whatsoever, and then all of a sudden it was lunchtime. Crowley offered to buy sushi, and Aziraphale offered no arguments. Crowley spent their lunch slowly sipping sake while watching each perfectly constructed piece of sushi disappear, and listening to Aziraphale’s hums of contentment. As they walked back to the bookshop, Aziraphale linked arms with Crowley, and Crowley tried to keep her mind on the conversation rather than on that closeness.

Aziraphale spent the afternoon puttering around the shop, and Crowley installed herself on the sofa. After eleven years of near-constant anxiety about their impending doom, Crowley was grateful for afternoons like this. The light in the shop was dim, and she could hear Aziraphale murmuring to herself about something or other, and it was so easy to drift right off to sleep. So she did just that, with the smell of book dust surrounding her, and the comfortable plush of the old sofa cradling her. She wasn’t sure how long she slept for, but suddenly there was a hand in her hair, and she was awake.

“Hmm?” she mumbled, blinking until she could focus on Aziraphale, who was kneeling beside the sofa. “Something wrong?” 

“Not at all, my dear,” said Aziraphale, fingers carding gently through Crowley’s hair. “I just...well, I was at my desk, looking over some old notes, when I...well. You looked so peaceful, so at home. You don’t mind, do you?”

 _At home._ Crowley shut her eyes again and leaned into Aziraphale’s touch. “Not one bit.” 

“What shall we do this evening?” Aziraphale asked. “Takeaway? I wouldn’t mind a quiet night in.”

“Oh, really?” Crowley forced her mouth to form words; the tingly feeling caused by Aziraphale’s fingers against her scalp was rather distracting. “I don’t have to twist your arm to stay in?”

“Shush,” said Aziraphale. “What would you say to Indian?”

“Always up for garlic naan,” said Crowley. “The usual place?”

“Yes, I think so.” 

The only downside to ordering in was that one of them had to do the actual ordering, and that would break up their current cozy arrangement. Eventually Aziraphale’s hand stopped moving, and Crowley felt an absurd longing for the angel to kiss her forehead. But instead she heard her cross the room and pick up her old phone to ring Bombay Palace. She smiled as she listened to the angel ordering and asking after the owner’s children. She knew Crowley’s order, she didn’t even need to ask. 

Much later, when Crowley was feeling rather stuffed full of biryani and naan and samosas, she watched Aziraphale stumble slightly on her way back from the wine rack. As usual, they’d drunk too much. There was something about the combination of good food and good company that caused them to empty wine bottles at an astonishing rate. It had always been that way, even before Aziraphale had acquired a handy little spot where they could hide away.

“Haven’t been to India in a while,” said Aziraphale, as she grappled with the cork.

“No, indeed,” said Crowley. She lifted her sunglasses and pushed them into her hair. “Reckon the naan there would be even better.” 

“Well, yes.” 

“Could go back now.” 

The cork popped and Aziraphale looked down, a bit astonished. “Could we?” 

“Why not? We can do whatever we like now.” 

“Gosh.” Aziraphale sat down rather heavily, wine bottle in one hand, and Crowley felt the sofa cushions bounce. “I hadn’t thought about travel.” 

“‘S’a big, wide world,” said Crowley. “Waiting out there, all...not destroyed.” 

“We should go somewhere, the two of us. For pleasure, not for work.” 

“Ngk,” said Crowley, dragging a hand over her mouth. “Where would you go, angel?” 

Aziraphale was pouring them each a new glass, the very tip of her very pink tongue poking out between her lips as she concentrated. Once she’d finished, twisting the bottle with a flourish, she looked back at Crowley with a smile. “Hmm?” 

Crowley snorted and picked up her newly full glass. “Nah, nothing.”

Aziraphale shrugged and settled into the sofa, sitting sideways so she could face Crowley. She leaned one elbow against the backrest, left ankle trapped beneath her right thigh. It was the most relaxed posture Crowley had ever seen her take, and it was the surest sign that she was becoming more comfortable with post-Heaven life. Sitting there, with her wine glass dangling from one hand, fluffed curls tucked behind her ears...Crowley wanted to kiss her.

“You know, I...I really like what you’ve done with your hair,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but it’s very nice.” 

Crowley laughed nervously and took a gulp of wine, caught out by the compliment. “Haven’t had it this long in ages. Nice to have something to fiddle with, sometimes.” 

“Yes, I can understand that,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve never had long hair. I do wonder if it would suit me.” 

“Most things do.” 

“Oh, stop,” said Aziraphale, blushing prettily.

“S’true, though,” said Crowley. “Togas, breeches, suits of armor...it’s all suited you.”

“You’re too kind, dear girl,” said Aziraphale. “I...I simply move with the ebb and flow of whatever fashion takes the humans’ fancies. Well, until recently. But you -- you innovate.” 

“Ohhh, pssh,” said Crowley. “I toss together random bits and silly bobs on whims.”

“Well, they must be fashionable whims, then,” said Aziraphale. “When’s the last time you went about in this sort of corporation?” 

“Must’ve been the seventies. D’you remember?”

“Ah, yes! Your hair was quite similar to how it is now.”

“Everything old is new again.”

“Ebbs and flows, you see.” Aziraphale glanced down at her wine glass. “Do you know, I...I had a bit of a flapper phase.”

Crowley nearly dropped her glass. “You what?” 

“Yes, I spent some time in New York...something to do with that Prohibition nonsense. Can’t quite remember just now. But the dancing, my dear.” 

Crowley felt rather lost just then, slightly unmoored from reality, as she tried to picture Aziraphale in a flapper dress, hair cropped and gams on display for anyone watching her do the Charleston. Eventually she regained the power of speech. “I was in Berlin then. Would’ve like to see you dancing, though.” 

“I would’ve liked to dance with you,” said Aziraphale.

The snap and crackle were there, as they always had been, and Crowley wondered if she might reach out and touch the creamy white of Aziraphale’s cheek. But she was too slow, and suddenly the angel was leaning forward to set her glass on the table amongst the wreckage of their dinner. When she returned to the sofa, she glanced at Crowley and then seemed to make a decision. Before Crowley knew what was happening, the angel’s head was on her shoulder, the warmth of her body pressed up against Crowley.

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked, her voice very small. 

“Course,” said Crowley, equally small in the quiet of the bookshop. She shifted carefully so she could wrap one arm around Aziraphale, just settled there, not pulling her any closer. “Is this?” 

Aziraphale nodded her head against Crowley’s shoulder. “Yes, I...I rather like this.”

The conversation petered out after that, somewhat stifled by the shock of the physical closeness. Aziraphale was so warm, and she smelled of the cologne she’d always worn. If Crowley leaned her head down a fraction of an inch, the angel’s messy curls might brush her lips. After a few moments, Crowley thought she should probably say something, if only to deter herself from that particular temptation. As she was about to speak, she realized Aziraphale’s breathing had deepened. She glanced down and saw that the angel was sleeping.

Aziraphale had never taken to sleep in the way Crowley had. She’d always said that was valuable time in which she could be reading. But Crowley had wondered if it was something more, something to do with Heaven and its impromptu check-ins. In the months since the failed apocalypse, Aziraphale had fallen asleep several times, which Crowley thought rather gave credence to her suspicions. Free of her watchdogs, Aziraphale could now relax, and her exhausted corporation seemed to be taking advantage of that. 

Crowley wasn’t sure, because she didn’t spend _every_ moment in the bookshop, but she thought Aziraphale had so far only fallen asleep in her presence. The implications of that were a little too much to face head-on, but Crowley felt a little bubble of warmth beneath her breastbone whenever she thought about it. 

For now, she’d let her sleep, she deserved it. But she’d wake her soon to sober up.

* * * * * *

Friday arrived very quickly. To ensure that it was definitely Friday, Aziraphale had forced herself out of the shop to purchase a newspaper each morning that week. Alistair Perry had phoned again on Wednesday to give Aziraphale the phone number she should use and the time of the auction. So on Friday, at precisely ten to two, Aziraphale pulled a chair up to the small table that held her second telephone. A printout of the Appleton estate’s auction catalog sat in her lap and a cup of cocoa was at hand. She opened her pocket watch on top of the catalog to watch the minutes tick down.

With five minutes to go, Aziraphale ruffled the pages of the catalog printout, pausing wherever she’d made a note. There were at least a dozen items she’d earmarked, and she would try for them all, but she had her heart set on one item in particular. 

At two o’clock, Aziraphale dialled the number Alistair had given her, and the auction proceedings began. This was high drama, as far as she was concerned, and she was enthralled even when she wasn’t involved in the bidding. Halfway through the catalog, she’d managed to acquire nearly everything on her list, save for a few rare books on theology. But none of that mattered now, because they were coming to the final item on her list. 

“The next item is the ‘To-remain’ Bible,” said the young man. “Do you wish to bid?” 

“Yes, I absolutely do,” said Aziraphale, wiggling to the edge of her seat. “With wild abandon.” 

The young man just barely held back a chuckle in his quest to remain professional. “Right, they’ve opened the bids at £5,000.” 

“Bid £5,500, please.” 

“Counterbid -- £7,000.”

“£10,000.” 

“Counterbid -- £15,000.”

 _Oh, really?_ “£20,000.” 

“Counterbid -- £50,000.” 

Aziraphale took a moment to let the back-and-forth sink in. No one had even bothered to counterbid on most of her other wish list items. But it seemed that she had now come up against a fellow Bible misprint enthusiast. If she’d had what Crowley referred to as a “hands-free phone,” she would have rolled up her sleeves. But there was no time, and she needed to keep her focus.

“£100,000.” 

The young man let out a whoosh of breath, and then there was a pause. “Counterbid -- £500,000.”

“What on earth...who is this counterbidder? Can you see them?” 

“I’m afraid they’re on the phone as well, ma’am,” said the young man. “Would you like to counter?”

“Yes, dash it all. £600,000.” 

Another pause. Aziraphale wished she was in the auction room, wished she could actually see the bidding war taking place on the floor. 

“Er...counterbid, £1,000,000.”

“You must be joking!” said Aziraphale, unable to contain herself. “Of all the...I can’t believe…”

“Would you like to counter?” 

Aziraphale paused to briefly consider the concept of money. She had, for a time, endeavored to earn all of her money through human effort. Her feeling on the matter was akin to her opinion on clothing -- she didn’t simply conjure it out of thin air, as Crowley did. But frankly, human jobs had become more and more convoluted, and soon it wasn’t enough to simply spend an afternoon tilling someone’s field for a few coppers. So she had been conjuring up her money for several centuries, but never more than she really needed. This had nothing to do with Heaven -- she wasn’t sure Heaven would’ve minded, honestly -- it was more rooted in her own morality. So conjuring up more than one million pounds seemed like a bridge too far for something so frivolous.

Oh, but she did want that Bible.

“Going once,” said the young man on her telephone. “Going twice...sold. Yes...yes, I’m afraid it’s been sold to your counterbidder.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “It’s just as well, I couldn’t have outbid them. Tell me, is there any way to ascertain the identity of that counterbidder?” 

“I’m afraid all bidder information is confidential, Ms. Fell,” said the young man. “But you did win nearly everything else you bid on.” 

“Yes, that’s true,” said Aziraphale. “Oh, dear. Well, are you able to ship the books to me, or do I need to pick them up from the estate?” 

The young man explained the process to her, but she only half heard his words. She fumbled her way through providing him with the shop’s address, and then bid him good day. After she’d hung up, Aziraphale stared down her telephone as though it were to blame for her loss. In truth, she only had herself and her reticence to blame, though she feared the counterbidder would’ve kept things going for hours. Whoever they were, they were determined. She removed her spectacles, sent a small blessing to the young man who’d helped her bid, and slid her catalog printout into the bin. 

Several hours later, while Aziraphale was attempting to make herself feel better by looking through her already impressive collection of misprinted Bibles, Crowley came swanning into the shop. 

“Angel!” she called out. “I come bearing gifts.” 

Aziraphale set down her copy of the “Treacle Bible” and mustered up something vaguely resembling a buoyant mood. She found Crowley sauntering her way toward the office, hips swinging from side to side in her skin-tight trousers. Aziraphale really couldn’t imagine how she was able to get them on, but was quite glad that she did. Crowley was carrying a plastic bag, and when Aziraphale caught sight of the name written on it, her mood buoyed for real. 

“La Creperie?” she said, pointing toward the bag.

“Yes, indeed,” said Crowley, with a grin. “Thought it might be a nice change from all the pastries. I’ve got sweet and savory, pick your poison.” 

“Oh, well, I...come on back, my dear. Shall I fix us something to drink?” 

“Earl Grey,” said Crowley. “Didn’t have time to grab a coffee.” 

“Mischief afoot?”

“Mmm, nyeaah,” said Crowley. “Sort of."

Aziraphale glanced back at Crowley, who was sprawled along one of the chairs at their table. She had a smirky sort of smile on her face, one that clearly said she was up to something. Aziraphale had seen that smile more times than she could count, and it usually took minimal coaxing to get Crowley to explain its cause. 

"Care to share?" she said as she poured boiling water into two mugs. 

“Nah, s’not very interesting,” said Crowley, quickly letting her grin fall. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale plopped one tea bag into each mug -- one cranberry black tea, one Earl Grey. She sugared her own cup liberally and let Crowley’s be. Then she carried them both to the table, where Crowley had already unpacked and plated the crepes. A sharp onion smell wafted from one plate, while the other smelled of sugar and strawberry filling. 

“It seemed interesting just now,” said Aziraphale, setting Crowley’s mug in front of her. “When you were grinning like a cat who’d caught the mouse.” 

“Put it out of your mind, honestly,” said Crowley. “S’not important. How’s your day been?” 

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow at Crowley, but the demon didn’t yield. She thought it very strange that Crowley didn’t want to gloat about her mischief or explain its intricate details. But she tried to forget it, as Crowley insisted.

“Well, if you must know,” she said, fingers tracing her mug’s wings. “I called in to a very exciting book auction this afternoon.” 

Crowley froze, as though she were a bloodhound catching someone’s scent. “Oh, yeah?” 

“Mm,” said Aziraphale, taking a sip of her tea. “The Appleton Estate. Do you remember? I mentioned it, oh, twenty-odd years ago?” 

“I...mehhh,” said Crowley, with a shake of her head, a shrug of her shoulders. 

“No, of course, we were probably too drunk,” said Aziraphale. “Well, it’s rather a large estate, and old Lord Appleton has passed on to meet his maker. Or perhaps to meet your lot, I don’t know how the man lived his life. What I do know is that he had an obscene amount of books.” 

Crowley raised one eyebrow and gestured toward Aziraphale’s shelves upon shelves.

“Yes, I know, glass houses,” said Aziraphale, waving her hand. “Anyway, he had several volumes that I was itching to get my hands on, and I did manage to get my hands on...most of them. But one in particular has eluded me.” 

“Oh?” said Crowley, her sunglasses were slipping down her nose, her mouth had gone slack. 

“Yes, a misprinted Bible,” said Aziraphale, frowning down at her tea. “I know it’s silly, I have quite an astonishing collection already, but, well. I really did want this one.” 

Aziraphale’s earlier melancholy returned now as she recounted her disappointing afternoon. She pulled the plate of sweet crepes toward her, sliced off a generous bite, and ate it, heart fluttering at the sinful delectability of the strawberry filling. The utter ecstasy caused by the crepe duelled with her despair at losing the Bible, creating something of an emotional tornado just below her ribcage. The only way to make it dissipate, obviously, was more crepes.

“Wh-what happened?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Hmm?”

“At the auction. What happened?” 

“Well, I was outbid by someone with far greater resources,” she said, carving off another bite of crepe. “Someone who clearly wanted this Bible more than I did, and believe me when I tell you that I _really_ wanted this Bible. I never imagined there might be someone else collecting misprinted Bibles.” 

“‘S probably...probably just some wanker,” said Crowley, shrugging her shoulders again, almost convulsively. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Aziraphale, sadly. “Anyone that determined to own a misprinted Bible can’t be all bad.” 

“Ngk,” said Crowley, and she pushed her glasses up her nose. “Yeah. Well. Maybe.” 

Aziraphale set down the fork and knife. “Are you quite all right, my dear?” 

“Yeah, sure, of course,” said Crowley, trying to look comfortable and casual. “Better than all right. I’m great.” 

Aziraphale frowned doubtfully across the table. “Is something going on? Are you in trouble?”

“No!” said Crowley, hurriedly. She leaned her elbows on the table, boots scuffing this way and that against the old wooden floor. “No, honestly. Everything’s fine. I’m just...I’m mad at the wanker who outbid you. You know? How dare he. Or she. Or neither. All are welcome.” 

“My dear, what are you on about?” 

“Mnnehh...nothing. Don’t, just...just ignore me,” said Crowley. “Listen. Try the, erm, the savory ones, because they smelled really good.” 

Aziraphale studied Crowley for a long moment, considering the way she shifted back and forth, shoulders moving like hinges. Neither of them said anything, until finally Crowley raised her eyebrows and pointed to the crepes garnished with chives. With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Aziraphale pulled the plate toward her and cut off a sizeable chunk. The savory option was just as delicious as the sweet -- onion and cream cheese and salmon, and was that rosemary? She took another bite and closed her eyes, chewing slowly, letting the exquisite flavors eat away at her disappointment even further. 

When she opened her eyes again, Aziraphale saw Crowley staring straight at her. Even with the sunglasses on it was blatant, and there was a hunger of a different kind there. 

Aziraphale sucked in a steadying breath. “Well. They’re perfectly wonderful, my dear. Thank you so much for bringing them over.” 

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “Did they help? Still disappointed?” 

Aziraphale considered the question. “Less disappointed, certainly.” 

“Good,” said Crowley, with a brisk nod. “That’s good. Anything else I can get you? I could pop out right now if something else would make you feel even better. What would you say to sushi tonight?” 

Crowley was acting very strange, indeed. She’d been spoiling Aziraphale for months now, ever since failed armageddon, but this rose to a new level. “I’m all right, my dear, I promise.”

“Right,” said Crowley, but she seemed doubtful. “Bonbons, maybe?” 

Aziraphale set her fork down. “You know, having you here makes me feel better. With or without gifts, I happen to enjoy spending time with you.” 

“Oh.” 

“I know you like bringing sweet treats when you visit, but please don’t feel as though you need an excuse to drop by.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Just...thought I should say that out loud.” Aziraphale could feel her cheeks burning, and her heart felt all fluttery in her chest. She hadn’t even given it a second thought; the words had just marched forth without her consent. 

“Er,” Crowley croaked, and then cleared her throat. “Thanks, er, for saying it.”

Aziraphale had hoped the declaration might crack something open between them, but it only brought an awkward silence to the table. She scraped her fork through some cream cheese that had leaked from a crepe, stealing quick glances up at Crowley. The demon was sitting back in her chair now, one hand on the table, fingers drumming restlessly. She was drawn taut, as she often was, and Aziraphale only wanted to help her settle. So she reached out her free hand and placed it atop Crowley’s. At first she went more rigid, if that were possible, but then the tension left her bones and she looked at Aziraphale. Though her sunglasses were firmly in place, the quirk of her eyebrows betrayed how grateful she was for the gesture.

“Also, sushi would be lovely,” said Aziraphale, softly, which made Crowley chortle.

* * * * * *

The box arrived a week after the auction.

Crowley was profoundly confused by the buzzing that filled her flat that morning, until she’d realized it must be someone using her intercom. No one had ever used her intercom. But she imagined that a flat of this size would have one, so it had been there the whole time. She let the delivery man into the building, and he’d hauled the box into the lift and to her front door. She’d just barely had the presence of mind to thank him, and as soon as he was gone she simply stared down at the box, its Barnstaple return address mocking her. 

This time, she’d thought, perhaps this time a plan of hers could go off without a hitch. The equation had been so simple -- if the angel likes books (A), then one should buy the angel a book (B). When would she learn there was always a C, an unwelcome variable entering into the proceedings? And usually she somehow brought about the unwelcome variable. 

When she’d won the Bible, Crowley had anticipated this moment, deciding how best to wrap it up and present it to Aziraphale. But now the box was just a big, bulky reminder of how she’d fleeced Aziraphale out of something she’d been after. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Aziraphale had said she didn’t need gifts, that she was content with Crowley’s company. It was something Crowley never could have imagined her saying, certainly not in the days when she wouldn’t admit to being Crowley’s friend. Now she’d said it so plainly, and it would have been perfect except for the enormous gift Crowley had just bought for her.

For a few hours, Crowley tried to simply ignore the box. She left it in the foyer while she had an espresso and stretched out on her not-very-comfortable sofa. She pointedly did not stare in its direction while she watered the plants, and she did not glare at it as she paced back and forth in front of it, willing it to disappear (but not actually, or else it really would have). Eventually she bent down and pried open the box.

The Bible was a massive thing, made for a lectern. Crowley thought idly of the bit of stone she’d salvaged from the church she’d blown up, and a wild idea occurred to her. Maybe one day she’d share a space with Aziraphale, and the angel could display misprinted Bibles on that lectern on a rotating basis, her own personal museum. Crowley shook her head and snapped her fingers, transforming the dull shipping box into a deep blue gift box patterned with silver pinpricks that were laid out like constellations. If you’re gonna do something, might as well do it right.

The bookshop was not very far from Crowley’s flat, but she took the Bentley because it always made her feel better to sit behind its big wheel. When the familiar old building came into view, Crowley zoomed right past it to circle the block and build up her nerve. She bypassed the shop three more times and then finally pulled the Bentley up alongside the windows where Aziraphale’s desk stood. She wondered if the angel heard her coming, if she was straightening her bowtie in preparation. 

Crowley’s brain was floating somewhere above her actual head; she let her physical corporation take the reins as she made her way to the shop’s front doors. Her arms were occupied with the gift box, so she opened the doors with a thought and strode into the shop. 

Aziraphale was crouched low near a large box of her own, tweed skirt splayed out and spine straight as she balanced on the balls of her feet with celestial grace. Her spectacles sat at the very end of her nose as she studied a leather-bound volume. Crowley cleared her throat, wanting to get the angel’s attention, but unsure of what to say. When Aziraphale looked up, she smiled like the sun and Crowley nearly staggered backward. 

“Hello, my dear,” said Aziraphale, closing her book gently. “What have you got there?” 

Crowley took a deep breath. “Right. So. I know you said I didn’t need an excuse to come over. And I know you said I didn’t need to bring you gifts. But this...well, I thought you’d like this, and I...didn’t know I was stealing it from you.”

“What on earth do you mean?” said Aziraphale, with a frown. She stood up in one fluid motion and removed her spectacles, placing them in the pocket of her skirt.

Crowley sighed and held out the box. “You’d better just have a look.” 

Aziraphale took the box, still looking quite confused. She turned and placed the box on the desk with the underutilized till. For a moment she simply studied the box, one hand passing gently over the pattern printed like stars. Then she lifted the lid, and Crowley stopped breathing. 

“ _Crowley,_ ” said Aziraphale -- soft, hushed, couched within a gasp. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Maybe,” said Crowley. She clasped her hands together, pressing them to the top of her head, and clenched her eyes shut. “Sorry.” 

Aziraphale was being very quiet. For a few moments, Crowley couldn’t bring herself to look, to see how the angel was reacting. She heard the soft crack of an ancient binding and the _shush_ of one page against another. But still Aziraphale said nothing, and Crowley was just about to open her eyes and put herself out of her misery when she heard the pleasant clack of Aziraphale’s brogues against the shop’s wooden floor. Crowley’s breath caught in her chest; she knew Aziraphale was standing in front of her, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look. 

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, the sound of her voice very close indeed. 

“Not sure,” said Crowley, with a gulp. 

“Are you overcome by the thought that you’ve done something nice?” 

“Mrgk,” said Crowley, frowning. “I was...I had no idea you’d be bidding in the auction too, angel. It never crossed my mind. But if it had, I would’ve forgotten the whole thing. Because I’m sure you wanted to get it on your own. And I was just, it was a stupid…”

Here, Crowley trailed off because she opened her eyes at last. Aziraphale stood less than a foot away from her, blue eyes bright with unshed tears and an unbearably fond smile on her face. 

“You’re too good to me,” she said, sniffling a bit. “I...I can’t believe you even remembered the Appleton estate.” 

Crowley let out a huff of breath, halfway to a chuckle. “Made a mental note as soon as you mentioned it. I tried to call them right then, actually. But the...the guy wasn’t dead yet.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “So you remembered all this time.”

“I mean, I didn’t keep a string tied around my finger or anything. I...I’d actually forgotten until that guy called me, Alistair What’s-his-face. And then it just...it seemed like perfect timing. If I’d known you were bidding on it, really, I would’ve let it go. I’m sorry.” 

“There’s no need to apologize,” said Aziraphale. She was _beaming_ at Crowley; it was a wonder that her halo hadn’t appeared. 

“There isn’t?”

“No, I’m not the slightest bit upset, I assure you.” 

“But...but you were so disappointed when I came by. That day.” 

“That was before I knew it was you who’d bested me.” 

“Oh.”

“And that makes all the difference, my dear.” 

“Oh?”

“Well, of course it does,” said Aziraphale, hands on her hips now. “You went to the trouble of remembering the estate, you called into the auction, and you paid...dear Lord, Crowley, you paid an absolutely _obscene_ amount of money for this Bible.” 

Crowley smirked at her. “It was pretty obscene. But, hey, look. You’re the one who kept driving the price up.” 

“Yes, I wanted to win!” 

“Hey,” said Crowley, tapping her on the shoulder. “Immovable object? Meet unstoppable force.” 

Aziraphale blushed and looked up at Crowley through her lashes. “Unstoppable, you say?” 

Crowley grinned and nodded. This was it, this was finally it, she could feel it in the air. Six thousand years had led up to this very moment, and Crowley was going to need a push because she’d spent a very long time with her toes at the edge of the cliff, just waiting. Somehow, Aziraphale seemed to sense that.

“My dear,” she said. “May I kiss you?” 

“I wish you would.” 

Aziraphale surged up toward Crowley and their lips met. Crowley leapt off the cliff and her heart cracked open, millennia of longing pouring out. Aziraphale’s hands came up to cup Crowley’s face, to hold her there so she could kiss her thoroughly. Crowley froze for a moment, letting Aziraphale take the lead, and then she wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. Aziraphale hummed softly in response, pressing her body against Crowley’s and redoubling her efforts. 

“Is this all right?” she asked, pulling back and breathing heavily against Crowley’s jaw. 

“Yeah,” said Crowley, blinking as she returned to reality. “Yeah, this is more than all right.”

“Really?” 

Crowley lifted her sunglasses into her hair and gazed at Aziraphale. “ _Yes_. You’re always going on about sensing love. Feel anything now?” 

Aziraphale paused, a look of slight concentration on her face that morphed into something like awe. “Oh, my dear. How could I ever have missed that? I do sense it now, but would...would you show me?”

Crowley smirked at the coquettish request. “I bought you the bloody Bible, angel.”

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale. “But perhaps something more visceral…?”

She didn’t need to be asked a third time. Crowley gripped the lapels of Aziraphale’s old, worn waistcoat and backed her into the nearest bookshelf. Aziraphale let out a gasp that Crowley leaned in to swallow, tongue pressing past her lips and grazing those perfect teeth. She thrilled at the sound Aziraphale made, something vibrating from her chest with want. As she kissed her, Crowley let her hands stray downward, cupping the angel’s ample breasts. 

“Is it all right?” said Aziraphale, pushing back to break the kiss. “Is...is this corporation agreeable?”

“Angel,” Crowley crooned. “You’ve always been _agreeable_ to me. In every form, in every time...you’ve never been anything but lovely.” 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley could tell she was blushing without having to look. “Oh, my.”

Crowley pulled at the ends of Aziraphale’s bowtie, something she’d fantasized about for ages, and untied it until it hung slack. Then she began unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt, taking her time to be careful with the aged fabric. With each new bit of exposed skin, Crowley became convinced she was about to wake up in her bed back in Mayfair. Surely this was all a dream, surely she was fast asleep trying to avoid the problem of the box in her foyer. But it all felt so real, Aziraphale’s soft skin under her lips and the swell of her hips under her hands. Crowley concentrated on the rise and fall of Aziraphale’s chest -- becoming more rapid by the second -- and told herself this was real. At last, this was real. 

Aziraphale was making the loveliest sounds, murmured nonsense words and soft little moans, and Crowley was rather enjoying being the cause of those sounds. Rather abruptly, Aziraphale grabbed a handful of Crowley’s hair and tugged her back up to kiss her properly. Distantly, Crowley heard her sunglasses clatter to the floor and paid them no mind. They wouldn’t break, and even if they did she had plenty more. Sunglasses mattered very little when Aziraphale was sliding her tongue along Crowley’s, moaning into her mouth.

“Goodness, but you’re wonderful,” Aziraphale breathed, pulling back again and nuzzling her nose against Crowley’s snake tattoo.

“Hngh,” said Crowley. “You too. You...you’re wonderful.”

“It’s just like I imagined,” said Aziraphale, which made something flutter in Crowley’s chest. “Better, in fact. Yes, much better.” 

“You imagined this?”

“Oh, I did. I’d never have admitted it before, but yes...I imagined this quite a lot.” 

Well, that was just too much. Crowley pressed Aziraphale against the bookshelf again and kissed her deeply, hands roaming anywhere they could reach. When they found themselves full of Aziraphale’s bum, Crowley rather lost focus, kneading the ample flesh and listening to Aziraphale’s pleased moans. She pulled back when she realized Aziraphale was trying to angle her hips, seeking out some kind of friction.

“Is this...should we…?”

“Oh, please, let’s...the sofa.” 

Crowley backed up, hoping she didn’t trip on anything along the way, until she found the old sofa. She took Aziraphale’s hand and pulled her down on top of her, gazing into those familiar blue eyes, now gone a bit hazy. Aziraphale was smiling, an expression of pure joy that seemed to light her from within. It was every grateful, happy smile Crowley had ever received from her, but turned up to eleven. In a few hours time, she might find herself blinded by its force. 

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley asked, running her hands along her up and down her sides, enjoying the ticklish wiggle that produced. “I’ll do anything.” 

Aziraphale’s smile turned into a wicked grin. “Oh, my dear. This is your most successful temptation yet.”

“Doesn’t seem like I’m having to work very hard,” said Crowley, with a smirk. 

“I suppose not.” Aziraphale leaned down for a long kiss, deep and intense. When she pulled back, she stayed close, her warm breath mingling with Crowley’s. “I’ve imagined so many things…”

Crowley gulped and shifted; her briefs were already so wet. They’d been wet since that first searing kiss. “What have you imagined? What do you want?” 

“I want so many things,” said Aziraphale, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I want to do so many things with you. And we have time now, don’t we? But now, I just...well, that is…”

“Anything,” Crowley repeated. “I mean it, anything.” 

“Well, I'm a bit…worked up. Touch me?” Aziraphale glanced downward to punctuate the question, then her eyes flicked back up to Crowley.

“Of course.” Crowley slid her hand slowly down one plump thigh, pausing to squeeze like she’d always wanted to. Then she reached the hem of the tweed skirt, fingers stealing beneath it, hardly believing she had permission to do this, that Aziraphale had _asked_ for this. As Crowley’s fingers stroked the soft skin of Aziraphale’s inner thigh, the angel shivered. Crowley continued on until her fingers brushed against lacy fabric, and now it was her turn to shiver.

Aziraphale, as it turned out, did not wear much in the way of undergarments. At least not in this corporation; Crowley wondered what she might have found if Aziraphale were presenting in another way. But today there was only a scrap of lace and silk separating Crowley’s hands from the heat of Aziraphale’s body. Eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s face, Crowley rubbed two fingers experimentally along the gusset of those lacy pants. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as she sucked in a breath, hips moving and asking for more. She was just as wet as Crowley. 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “This...this is what I want. Crowley, please…” 

“Can I…,” Crowley cleared her throat. “Can I take these off?” 

“Yes, please. Let me feel you.” 

Crowley tugged at the hem of Aziraphale’s underwear, pulling them down past her hips and along her thighs. When they reached her knees, Aziraphale leaned back and kicked out her legs so Crowley could pull them along her shapely calves and finally off her legs altogether. She flung them away, and Aziraphale was up on her knees again instantly, hands on Crowley’s shoulders, pulling her into a kiss. Crowley fumbled for the hem of her skirt, using her thigh as a guide, up and up until she brushed against sensitive skin that made Aziraphale shudder. 

“You’re wet,” said Crowley, half observation and half cheeky accusation. She started off gingerly, fingers running along Aziraphale’s outer labia, then brushing her clit. 

“I...I said you’d worked me up,” said Aziraphale. “You can touch me more, you know. Harder…”

So Crowley moved more confidently, savoring the slick wetness of Aziraphale, thumb rubbing at her clit until she let out a keening moan. She let her fingers dip lower, teasing at Aziraphale’s entrance but wanting permission before she took that step.

“Yes, inside,” Aziraphale gasped. “Fingers...please…”

As she slipped inside, slicking her fingers with a swift miracle, Crowley matched Aziraphale’s gasp with a satisfied hum. She added a second finger and crooked them both, looking up to see Aziraphale’s reaction. The angel was flushed, all the way down her pretty neck and onto the soft skin of her chest. Her eyes kept fluttering open and closed, her hips moving as she urged Crowley on, moaning and grabbing at her shoulders.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, breathing heavily now. “Oh, _goodness._ One moment...I want...let me touch you, too.”

“Oh. Yeah?” Crowley was so focused on making Aziraphale feel good, on catering to her, but her own briefs were fairly soaked now. When she paused and took stock of herself, the ache between her legs made itself known, and she wanted to know how Aziraphale’s fingers would feel against her, inside her. After all, she’d imagined this too.

“Yes, of course,” said Aziraphale, hands already undoing Crowley’s belt. When she got the zip down, she slid her hand in to cup Crowley, to touch her teasingly. With Crowley’s fingers still inside her, Aziraphale managed to smirk as she stroked her lightly. “It seems that you’re quite worked up as well.”

Crowley gulped, trying to maintain her focus, but it was difficult with Aziraphale’s index finger circling her clit. “A bit, yeah. Oh, _fuck,_ angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, the pupils blown. “I’d like to make you curse like that again. How on earth do you remove these ridiculous trousers?”

“Only one way.” Crowley snapped the fingers of her free hand and the skin-tight denim was banished to some other plane of existence, she didn’t really care where. All she cared about was the way Aziraphale grinned at her before sliding her briefs down her slim thighs. 

“Is it all right if I --” 

“ _Yes_ ,” said Crowley, a bit desperately. “Fuck, yes, anything.” 

They were both up on their knees, and Crowley still had two fingers buried inside Aziraphale. She crooked them now, just to see the hazy look on Aziraphale’s face, to feel the way her hips jerked involuntarily. She did it again, and again, and it was certainly something she could get used to, the way Aziraphale’s face clouded over with pleasure. But then Aziraphale leaned in to kiss her, soft and slow, and while Crowley was distracted, Aziraphale slid her fingers along her labia, on either side of her clit. Crowley moaned into the kiss as Aziraphale stroked her, explored her. 

“You...fuck, that feels good,” said Crowley.

“It does,” Aziraphale breathed, shifting her hips, encouraging Crowley to move inside her again. So she did, forcing herself to focus again, to press deeper, to coax sweet little sounds of pleasure from Aziraphale’s soft white throat. 

As soon as Crowley had managed to focus, Aziraphale (such a bastard, always a bastard) slipped one finger inside her and everything went sideways. Aziraphale added a second, and her fingers were so wonderfully plump, and there was a not unpleasant stretch as she moved in and out, finding a rhythm. Crowley felt like a kettle about to boil, which must’ve been why she let out a keening moan just as Aziraphale leaned in to suck at her neck. 

“How...how are you better at this...than me?” Crowley panted, free hand clutching at Aziraphale. “You’re so… _hngh_ , you’re so good at this.” 

“You make it easy, darling,” said Aziraphale. “And don’t be absurd, you’re good at it as well. Oh, you’re so wonderful.” 

“Me? You’re the one with...fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for ages.” 

Aziraphale hummed, a serene smile on her face that only grew as Crowley redoubled her efforts, moving in earnest now. Aziraphale’s hips moved in time with Crowley’s fingers, and Crowley wished they’d gotten a bit more undressed, that she could see all of Aziraphale like this. But she supposed there’d be time for that now, now that they’d figured this part out. She could not _believe_ they’d figured this part out.

Even as Aziraphale’s moans reached a fever pitch, as she gasped Crowley’s name, she moved her own fingers, thumb rubbing at Crowley’s clit and making her tremble. Crowley felt it building in her abdomen, felt the world narrowing to accommodate only the way Aziraphale was touching her. Aziraphale leaned in to kiss Crowley, and they overbalanced, Crowley falling backward and Aziraphale following. Crowley cursed, but Aziraphale laughed, free hand coming up to brush errant strands of hair from Crowley’s face. And there was a pause, the only sound in the bookshop their heavy breaths, and Aziraphale’s smile was like the sun. 

“I love you,” said Crowley, the words coming out in a rush, completely unplanned. 

It hadn’t seemed possible just moments before, but Aziraphale’s smile somehow grew wider, and now Crowley was definitely going to go blind from its intensity. 

“I love you, too,” said Aziraphale, sounding a bit choked up. “So, so much.” 

Now they really were on the same page, completely, for the first time in their very long association. There was more to discuss, of course, but right now all that mattered was those three words. Aziraphale kissed Crowley, a slow and measured worship as she moved her fingers again. Crowley began to feel untethered, and she was glad she’d said those words while she could, because her vocabulary suddenly became rather limited. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” she repeated, something like a prayer. And then her back arched, her body overriding her mind, and she pressed up toward Aziraphale, nonsense words tumbling from her lips as she came, savoring every wave of pleasure. 

“Dear heart,” said Aziraphale, the next thing Crowley was able to hear as her body relaxed. The angel pressed her lips gently to Crowley’s brow, and Crowley felt her heart crack open once again. 

“Oh, angel,” she said, moaning softly as Aziraphale slipped her fingers free, brushing against her oversensitive skin. “You deserve the same. You deserve more.”

Now Crowley could return to the task at hand, adding a third finger and relishing the way Aziraphale gasped. Everything seemed sharper now, with the afterglow settling in her limbs, and Crowley was enchanted by the way Aziraphale bit her lip and breathed her name.

“Is this okay?” said Crowley, eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s face. “Does this work for you?”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale moaned. “Actually, could you…”

“Anything, love. Name it.” 

“Just, shift…”

Aziraphale trailed off, reaching down to gently reposition Crowley’s hand. Then she ground down against the heel, the hard bone near her wrist, with a grunt of pleasure. Crowley caught on quick, pressing up against Aziraphale as she moved her fingers. Aziraphale rolled her hips and tossed her head back, which was an invitation Crowley couldn’t pass up. She leaned in to mouth along Aziraphale’s neck, nibbling at the hollow of her throat, feeling the thrum of her pulse. The angel moved in time with Crowley until she went rigid, body trembling and head falling forward against Crowley’s. 

“Oh,” she moaned weakly. “Oh...oh my. Oh, Crowley.”

“Good, then?” said Crowley, half teasing and half in earnest.

Aziraphale lifted her head to look her in the eye, gaze a bit bleary. “Wonderful. Absolutely perfect, I assure you.” 

“Good.” Crowley slipped out of Aziraphale carefully, leaning in to kiss her gently, to brush her fingertips against the apples of her cheeks. “Did you...I mean. We said something, a few minutes ago. Was that...endorphins?”

Aziraphale smiled and stared her down. “It was for real, Crowley. It’s always been real, for me, I just haven’t been able to say it.” 

“Right. Me too. I mean...yeah, me too.”

“I know, dear,” said Aziraphale, leaning in close just because. “I’ve suspected for some time now, at least half a century. But you know, the situation was a bit tricky.” 

“Tricky,” Crowley agreed, with a nod. “And now?” 

“Not so tricky anymore,” said Aziraphale, with a smirk of a smile. 

Crowley kissed her, a soft brush of lips that became something more, with Aziraphale’s hands in Crowley’s hair, pushing the long strands back at her temples. The sensation made her shiver in a very good way, so she leaned in closer, and Aziraphale took the hint, scratching gently at her scalp. 

“Are you a snake or a cat?” said Aziraphale, as they broke the kiss. 

“Mmm, not sure anymore,” said Crowley. Truth be told, she felt on the verge of purring.

Aziraphale rolled off of her, and the sofa widened to accommodate them both, which was very polite of it. Aziraphale shifted onto her side and snuggled in close, tangling their legs together. Crowley blushed at the closeness, despite what they’d just done. She felt a pleasant tingle across her whole body as Aziraphale lazily dragged one hand up and down her chest, along the breastbone. To think, she’d started off her day worried that Aziraphale would hate her as soon as she brought over that gift box.

“Y’know, I thought you were gonna hate me,” she said. “For the Bible.” 

“Why on earth would you think that?”

Crowley shrugged, which didn’t have the same effect when one was lying down. “You said you didn’t need gifts. And here I was with a very expensive Bible. Felt a bit stupid.” 

“Oh, I suppose I did say that. But this was...well, this was certainly a special case. I mean, it was so romantic of you.” 

Crowley snorted. “Only you would consider a very expensive Bible to be a romantic gift.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale, as though it were a complete sentence. Then, after a moment, “Shall we...take a leaf out of that very expensive Bible and simply _remain _here?”__

__“ _Oh,_ ” Crowley groaned. “That’s it, angel. I’ve gone off you, that’s all it took.” _ _

__Aziraphale giggled and pressed her face into Crowley’s neck. “I think I’d like to discover why you’re always so eager to sleep on this sofa.”_ _

__Crowley wiggled until she could get her arm around Aziraphale, though it was a bit awkward. She pulled the angel close and pressed a kiss to her temple. “S’not about the sofa.”_ _

__“ _Oh,_ ” said Aziraphale, very softly. _ _

__It was never about the sofa. It was the warmth of the bookshop, the comfort of Aziraphale sitting nearby reading, and the ease that Crowley felt here as she did nowhere else. She hoped it was that ease that lulled Aziraphale to sleep, as soft and even breaths became the only noise in the shop. Crowley ran her fingers along Aziraphale’s arm and shut her own eyes._ _

__As she drifted off, Crowley sent one small demonic miracle into the world. The next morning, when Mr. Alistair Perry arrived at work, he’d find a massive basket of whatever he liked best._ _

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were interested, from Wikipedia: 
> 
> _The "To-remain Bible", from 1805: In Galatians 4:29 a proof-reader had written in "to remain" in the margin, as an answer to whether a comma should be deleted. The note inadvertently became part of the text, making the edition read "But as then he that was born after the flesh persecuted him that was born after the Spirit to remain, even so it is now."_
> 
> You can find me on tumblr, @truncated-symphony.


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